


Other Than Dead

by rranne



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Gen, Multi, Post NFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rranne/pseuds/rranne





	1. Introduction

  


**Buffy the Vampire Slayer**  


  


  


**Power Alone is Not Enough**  


 

  


**Book One: Other than Dead**  


  


  


**Introduction:**  


 

A Legacy… _Into every generation…_ is a hard thing to live up to… _There is a chosen one…_ and an even harder burden to bare... _One girl in all the world…_ when it is come upon at a tender age… _One born with the strength and skill…_ and everything… _To stop the spread of Evil…_ literally depends on it… _She alone will stand against the vampires…_ what then the end of innocence… _the demons and the Forces of Darkness…_ when even evil is no longer pure… _She is the Slayer._

 

Willow Speaks: "You think you know,"  
Followed by Spike: "What you are,"  
Then Buffy: "What is to come,"  
Dawn: "You haven't even begun,"  
And Giles: "The world is doomed."

  



	2. Prologue One

 

  
**Prologue The First: Africa, eight years, three months ago:**   


He had many names: Asphyx, Cave Demon, Daemon of the Waters of the Earth, Archangel, Keeper of Souls, Paradoxium, Demon's Folly, Todd...but to him, he was just himself.

  


He had been here since there was a here to be, and now this task, at least, was done.

  


There had been many, often even more than one per millennia, as time is reckoned now in this the rising of man, and they had been-entertaining.

  


As he had been told the proof would come, in truth, would be compelled to do so.

  


And so it did.

  


And, as he had been told, he would doubt the proof that it might be proved.

  


And doubt he did.

  


This could not be proof of the paradox. It was too small; larger than the scarab, yes, but they were many and it was but one and alone; smaller in mass and in muscle than the other trials by far.

  


And fragile, not even true daemon stood before him but mortal born.

  


Indeed, the trials themselves seemed set, as set they were, against this one, against its kind in particular.

  


 _Hmm,_ the Archangel thought, _perhaps then this be telling true, and I should not doubt,_ but doubt he had to.

  


No, it was too young, not yet two centuries, a mere portion of a blink of an eye, far too young to be proof.

  


Yet it bore the mark and by measure of its kind could not be marked.

  


The Archangel thought the motive selfish; it sounded so, but if proved true as stated would be thus pure and that truth be in the Trial not in the telling.

  


 **_The other requirements are they met?_ ** __

  


The Archangel probed as he spoke to it; his words meant naught, the probing all.

  


 **_Does it know or is it ignorant?_ **

  


It did not know specifically, but by nature and in general-yes and specific awareness was never stipulated.

  


 **  
_Does it fear or has it courage?_   
**

  


It had feared once and often and if it survived was certain would again; although for now, the metal was tempered well. And courage; courage and foolhardiness, they are often one. It would not leave without what it came for or it would not leave. It was here all the same.

  


 **  
_Has it strength or is it weak?_   
**

  


No it did not have the strength, in that it would fail. It had not fed; in truth, it hadn't fed well in a long time. It would fail, but neither quickly nor quietly. It would fight and it would struggle until it won or was no more.

  


 _Hmm, is that perhaps enough?_

  


 **"Do your worst,"** it said, **"...but when I win, I want what I came here for."**

  


The Archangel chuckled to himself, _'When,' ha, yes, determined it is nonetheless._

  


Lastly, that to be restored must at once be given and freely. _Yes, yes that was already so._

  


 _Well,_ the Archangel thought _...let the proof be proven, then._

  


Thus the Trial began and in its due was done.

Afterward the Archangel mused aloud to that which Be:

"I should tidy up.

  


No?

  


True, time will attend to it.

  


There **is** yet time."

And in after thought he asked, "May I watch?"

  


Answer was given.

  


The Archangel smiled as he unfurled his wings and he set with them upon the heavens and the stars heard the peal of his laughter.


	3. Prologue the Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Having established a temporary truce with text editor here, I will try to catch this story up to where it is elsewhere. Be warned, this will be happening in sections - I do not write in HTML code and it is frustrating to convert everything to it, especially in large chunks, so, small chunks it is.

Prologue The Second: January, the Slayer Compound:

"Angel, who did this to you," Willow asked, cautiously pulling back the cloth of his shirt now pasted to flesh by dried blackened blood and pus. She winced as her ministrations allowed the wound to open. It began to ooze and bleed and smoke. It did not smell that well either. 

Andrew skidded, overshooting the foyer archway. "I got it!" he said, panting from the scramble for the first aid kit. He fumbled with the case's latch, opening it and putting it on the floor next to them. "It was wedged in beside the refrigerator by a bent fork," he explained. "Oh, and I found all the lost silverware there too! Uh, they're a little bit furry." 

"This is serious, Andrew," Willow snapped with a scowl. She unwound some gauze as she quickly rummaged through the kit. "This is not enough; we need the surgical kit from the infirmary." 

"I'll get it," Andrew volunteered. The sight and smell of the oozing wound made him queasy and Willow noted the muffled retching and gagging sounds that followed him out the door. 

"Here, Angel, put some pressure on this," she said, packing the wound with loose gauze. 

Her hand accidentally brushed across the red and black jagged circle barely an inch from the wound, directly over his heart. She thought it was a tattoo, he had several, though she didn't remember him having one there; but tattoos don't bite. This one bit her like a spider startled by her hand. She jerked it away. The circle glowed with the incandescence of a coal starting to catch flame. The flesh beneath and skin along its edges began to smolder. 

"No! Don't!" Angel rasped, his hand abruptly halting the gentle pressure. 

The muscles in his jaw and neck involuntarily contracted as the gauze snagged on the rough edges surrounding the wound tearing them anew. 

"No! No pressure...it's splintered...all directions...can't get it out..." he said, his voice faltering as it failed him. 

Willow grabbed a pre-packaged gauze pad. "Oh no, no pressure," she repeated in quiet alarm, ripping open the gauze and putting it over the kindling circle not knowing whether it would ignite or quench it. 

The loose gauze in the wound was saturated and fresh blood and ooze began to trickle down Angel's chest leaving seared steaming rivulets in his flesh. 

Willow was, as a rule, steady in these situations, she'd seen Angel hurt before, Spike as well, and injured vampires-just not as big a deal in the triage area as mortals, but she had never seen this. 

Angel's skin, always pale, was chalky and looked very dry and ashen. She knew that vampires didn't, under normal circumstances, breathe, at least not often, but he was breathing, hard and labored, and if she was not mistaken, each exhale held a little more faint smoke than the last, and that smell...vampires usually smelled, well, good to her. Occasionally she'd come across one that was a little ripe or just plain unhygienic. Angel always smelled like cedar and spearmint mixed with leather and sorta licoricey. This smelled like dry-scorched death. Willow felt the panic escalate. 

"Right, no pressure," she whispered. "I need help." She hit the intercom by the door. "Giles! Hurry!" she yelled. 

She and Giles were working in the study when the security monitor beeped indicating someone at the main gate, someone who couldn't pass without intercession through the mystic locks and who didn't have a current access code for the physical ones. 

She wasn't overly concerned when there was no answer to her salutatory inquiries. The intercom at the gate was garbled, at best, since the Lei-Ach incident last fall. The main console would give a visual and she offered to go check it, needing a break from the routine research. 

She checked the main security panel in the common living area pulling up video for the gate. There was no vehicle in the drive. She sighed heavily as she switched to the camera in the walk-up alcove, it was still spattered with exploded Lei-Ach, but she could see it was Angel. She wondered why he was here. He usually called first. He didn't look well. Something was wrong. 

Willow began the incantation that would allow him to pass through the gate, hoping that enough of it made it through the intercom system to let him know when the mystic locks would allow him in. 

It was apparent from the look on Angel's face that her words did not transfer through the Lei-Ach clogged speakers. Luckily, the click of the electronic door lock did the trick. He was in the compound, but he was not moving very well. _I might have to go get him,_ she thought. 

Willow hurriedly recited the spell to allow him into the main house as she headed to the foyer. 

“Are we having company," Andrew asked, coming out of the kitchen, a large sandwich in hand. He’d overheard her invocations. 

"It's Angel," Willow said, "he's here, coming from the gate, Andrew, he doesn't really look too good, can you go check and see if he needs help?" 

"Yeah," he said, "just don't eat my sandwich," setting the plate down on the bookcase. He turned and opened the door. Angel was already there, in an upright slump against the barrier. Willow realized Andrew had interrupted her incantation before she’d spoken the last two crucial words. 

"Come in," they both chimed. The barrier fell away and Angel fell with it, hard across the threshold taking Andrew down with him. Willow attempted to break their fall and went down as well, leaving them all in a heap just inside the doorway. 

Andrew squirmed trying to get out from underneath, as Willow propped Angel up against the doorframe. She knew Andrew was all right by his wriggling and fussing, but Angel was hurt. There was a large oozing hole in his chest, gashes in an arm and a leg and a deep slash alongside his face from temple to jaw line. 

"We need the first aid kit," she exclaimed, glancing at Andrew as she spoke, "...it's in the kitchen." Andrew scurried leaving her to attend to Angel. 

"What happened," she asked, moving the lapel of his coat away for a better look at the wound, "Angel, who did this to you?" 

"Willow! What," it was Giles dashing into the far end of the hall. "...Angel?" 

"Giles, he's hurt bad," her voice telling fear and concern. 

Giles quickly assessed Angel's wounds. Willow was not wrong, he was hurt - bad. 

Xander arrived panting at the door. "I thought I saw..." he said catching his breath, "...I did!" He was never pleased to see Angel. 

"He's been staked," Willow said, "and there's splinters." 

"We need to move him," Giles said upon assessment of his wounds, "...somewhere with more light. Uh...the kitchen. Xander, let's see if we can get him up and get him in there Willow, Giles and Xander help Angel rise to his feet, halfway up a violent coughing fit abruptly halts their progress. Angel, nearly doubling over, expelling smoke and dust with each labored hack. He gestured for a little less assistance and grabbed the doorframe in effort to pull himself upright. 

"Uh, gently," Giles offered belatedly, attempting to stabilize him. Braced by Giles on one side and Xander on the other, they began to trudge slowly to the kitchen, steadied by Willow from behind. 

"What happened," Giles asked. 

"It was Spike," Angel said, stopping mid-step to cough up more dust and smoke. 

"Spike did this," Willow asked, supporting all of them through the coughing spell. 

"We fought..." Angel continued, gasping for enough air to form the words. 

"About what," Xander asked. 

"Do we need a reason," Angel said with more force than he was able to triggering another coughing jag. His tone, more Angelus than Angel, making Xander promptly drop the questioning. 

TBC….


End file.
